The Mentalist fanfic Red Lipstick
by Wilma69
Summary: The manager of a bank gets killed. The CBI team is investigating. Jane of course does this in his own unique way.


TITLE: Red Lipstick.  
AUTHOR: Wilma.

CATEGORY: Gen, story focused on Patrick Jane but team stuff as well.

RATING: PG.  
SPOILERS: No.  
SYNOPSIS: A bank robber kills the manager of a bank. The CBI team has to find out who did it. And Patrick does this in his own unique way.

DISCLAIMER: The Mentalist and its characters are property of CBS/Warner Bross. This story is written for entertainment purposes only. No copyright infringement is intended. The original characters, situations, and story are the property of the author. Not to be archived without permission of the author.

AUTHOR'S NOTES:  My first The Mentalist fanfic. A huge thank you to Cindy for the Beta. All mistakes still in here are my own fault. I hope you will enjoy.

* * *

The Mentalist… Red Lipstick, By Wilma.

The couch. Patrick Jane liked to think of it as _his_ couch, and at the moment, the soft leather cushions looked very inviting. They seemed to call him. And the minute he put his feet up, his head resting on the armrest, he let out a long satisfied sigh.

Hearing his co-workers, his team's banter in the distance, he could always visualise walking on a beach, the waves in the background, people strolling along chatting and having fun, sun shining. A perfect day.

Patrick closed his eyes. The old leather couch was really the perfect place for a nap, as always. No need to think, just relax and drift away on the sounds.

Quiet places, like his daughter's old bedroom with a mattress on the floor where he slept nowadays, made him fall back into the nightmares he desperately tried to avoid. It was his own fault. He should move. Not stay in the house so full of bad memories.

He'd wondered for a long time if he would ever be able to sleep again at all. But then he discovered the couch. This couch, this team, this office. He now knew he needed sound. Human voices kept him connected to the real world. They were his anchor. It kept him sane, so he could sleep without nightmares.

As a consultant to the California Bureau of Investigation located in Sacramento, Patrick could allow himself a nap now and again. Between crimes, between travelling all around California to solve them with the team. No one ever blamed him for not doing his job. They even thought he was too much involved in it most of the time.

Patrick could hear Teresa Lisbon's voice change somewhere to his left, not far away. She was the team's senior agent and boss. He could always hear it in her voice if she was upset, excited, happy, even though she did her best to keep her voice neutral. He knew that his ability to correctly read her moods drove her nuts at times. Well, most times.

He couldn't help but smile at that. If she were looking his way now, she would probably see the grin on his face. To him it was very helpful to know how she was feeling so that he could avoid any bad tempers, if he wanted. And right now she seemed to be in a bad one.

It was probably a good idea to get up and listen.

* * *

Teresa Lisbon was having one of those mornings where everything went wrong. It was almost like a Friday the 13th if you believed in that nonsense. Teresa didn't. She was far too practical for that. It was just a bad morning. She woke up too late, only had time to grab one cup of coffee on her way to the CBI office, and finally, to top it off, she hit a small pole while parking her new Ford as she pulled into the parking lot. The scratch on the shiny black paint had made her curse. Definitely a bad morning.

Then she had done some of the paperwork that was piling on her desk, assigned projects to the members of her team, and had an argument with Jane about why he had parked his Citroen DS in her personal parking spot. He had just grinned one of his annoying grins at her and had asked if her alarm clock at home was broken. Damn him.

The call came when Jane had finally shut up, and retreated to the couch. Teresa had been hoping to get some peace and quiet, but it wasn't meant to be. The phone call messed that up really neatly. Yes, definitely a bad morning.

"Guys, get your gear, we're off to the River city bank on Del Paso road. The manager has just been shot and killed by a would-be bank robber." She was all business talking to her team. Even Jane had woken up to join them. The man's hair was all over the place from lying on the couch. Jane never really seemed to care about those things. He didn't comment on her words while joining them, no funny quips or jibes, for which she was grateful.

Agents Kimball Cho and Wayne Rigsby happily set aside their paperwork and grabbed their coffees. The slight smile on Rigsby's face showed that the tall agent preferred to work in the field rather than in the office. She couldn't blame him; the truth was, she did too.

Grace Van Pelt, the junior officer on the team, grabbed for her jacket and glared at Jane, who was holding it up for her. Jane was always getting on Van Pelt's nerves pushing her buttons, particularly with his whole; "there is no such thing as psychics," which flew in the face of how he frequently appeared to read her mind. Teresa could swear he did it on purpose.

She let out a sigh and didn't wait for them to follow her out of the office.

* * *

"Agent Lisbon, hi."

Officer Carl Booker knew the CBI. He was the one who had called them in the first place. He knew Lisbon very well, and knew her team was the best. Their consultant, Jane, was a little weird, but if they did the job who was he to complain?

He'd been working for the Sacramento police department for 30 years now. He'd seen a lot of things in his time. Still, it was always hard to be involved in a crime where there was a human being killed.

Lisbon came towards him. Her casual and in-control stride always amazed him. She was a small woman, but one tough cookie. Jane was on her heels. He didn't know what to think of the man. Was he a psychic, or what? And why did Lisbon put up with him?

"Hi Carl. What have you got?"

He waved them to follow him to the left side of the desks situated in the back of the main hall of the bank. Yellow tape partitioned off the crime scene. He ducked under it, holding it up for Lisbon and Jane, and gestured at the blood-soaked body on the floor.

It appeared that the man had been shot straight through the chest, twice.

"He was the manager of the bank, Mr. Chris Bell. Eyewitnesses say he was shot by a female bank robber who demanded money. Mr. Bell confronted her, and she fired a couple of shots with a small gun. We are guessing a 22-magnum revolver, but forensics will have to make sure of that. She fled through the front doors without any money."

"Anything on the security camera's? " Lisbon asked.

"They were shut down."

"Oh, that's convenient," Jane answered instead of Lisbon.

Ignoring Jane, Carl looked down at Lisbon. "This woman walked in wanting money. I don't think she wanted to shoot him."

"What makes you so sure? I mean, why come to rob a bank and leave without any money?"

Jane looked overconfident. The smile on his face irritated Carl. Who was he to ask these questions? "Maybe this woman wanted to shoot the manager. I mean, that can happen, right?" Jane looked at Lisbon. "Right?"

"Maybe." Lisbon stared at him, and at Carl. "Sorry, Carl, where were we?"

* * *

Patrick took another close look at the body, studied Officer Booker a moment, and then turned around to have a scrutinizing look around the main hall. Lisbon was the one who would ask more questions and Rigsby, Cho and Van Pelt were talking to the eye witnesses right now. He would do the same later, but not right now. Now it was time to look around closely, to retrace the steps of the bank robber. To observe details that were often missed by others.

There were three employees in the hall, still behind their desks because they had been directed by the police to stick around until the CBI had questioned them. All three were women who appeared to be in their late twenties. They all looked scared; Patrick took special note of the one who was sobbing.

Two eye witnesses were in the bank when the robbery took place: One older lady and a man who was in his thirties. The lady talked to Van Pelt while Cho interviewed the man. Cho always looked serious, and this was no exception. Patrick knew it was just a cover. Cho was a master interrogator.

Patrick looked around the hall and then walked towards the glass doors that were the exit. He walked through it to see the angle of the outside camera and stopped in his tracks. A small smudge on the glass caught his attention. He squinted and smiled. Lipstick, red lipstick to be precise. Interesting.

"Lisbon?"

"Yes?"

"Can you come over here for a sec?" He pointed out the lipstick stain on the door. "The outside camera might tell you that the woman committing the robbery ran into the glass doors. Here's her lipstick."

Officer Booker looked at him. Patrick could tell from the way he practically stared at him that the older police officer wasn't a big fan of people working for the police who weren't police officers themselves. Well, tough luck. He wasn't intimidated.

"You have not checked the outside camera yet, Officer Booker?"

"No, we haven't had time yet. And to be honest I think it might be turned off like the ones inside." Booker sounded annoyed. He no doubt felt grumpy with himself for missing this potentially incriminating evidence in the first place.

"Not this time." Patrick flashed him a grin that probably annoyed him more.

"I'll get Rigsby on it… Rigsby?" Lisbon waved their tall colleague over. "Would you get a sample of this lipstick stain so we can check it for DNA, and get the tapes of the outside camera as well?"

"Yes, boss."

Patrick smiled at them. "Okay, time to talk to the people." Without waiting for any permission he walked straight over to the counters where the employees were still sitting, staring at him now. He waved his hand at them. "Ladies, let's find a place to talk."

* * *

Patrick had been talking to the women from the front desks for about ten minutes. They confirmed what he already knew. He also found out that the dead man, Mr. Chris Bell, was not a much-loved individual at the bank. They didn't come right out and say they hated him, but he sense a whole lot of resentment.

The robbery attempt and murder had come as a surprise of course, and they had feared for their lives. One of them felt guilty for being relieved that she wasn't the one who got shot. All normal behaviour to Patrick; survivors guilt. He felt confident these women had nothing to do with the manager's death.

He wanted to talk to more employees of the bank, so one of the ladies showed him to the backroom office. There were three people working there she'd told him. Time to have a little chat and look around the place…

When Patrick walked in there were two people in the room, which was furnished with three desks and a blue couch. It was a light room, with white walls, and a window looking out over a small park. The two people were male and female.

The man, who was in his late thirties, almost bald with a little moustache and wearing a suit that seemed two sizes too small finally noticed him but didn't look surprised.

"You're the police?"

"CBI," Patrick said, and waved his badge for them to see. "Can I ask you two a couple of questions?"

The red headed petite woman stood up from her desk, walking towards him. "Is he really, dead?"

"Yes."

She got pale, her breath almost stuck in her throat. But she shook his hand with a sort of confidence that didn't seem to match her mood. He could feel the palms of her hands were sweaty. "My name is Alison Carter, this is Harold Sumner," she pointed at the man. "We weren't allowed to leave the office until someone, the police, came to talk to us."

"And that desk?" Patrick pointed at the third desk that was unoccupied.

"Elizabeth Ratcliffe usually works there, but she called in sick this morning," Sumner answered without looking at him. His attention was focused on writing something down in a folder on his desk. "But I know she hated Bell just as much as we did."

Patrick rolled his eyes. He had heard that one before. "At what time?"

"What?"

"Ms. Ratcliffe. When did she call in that she was sick?"

"Uh…" he stared at his watch. "Around eight, I think... not sure."

"Did anybody else leave this office around the time of the robbery?"

"No." Sumner stood up from his desk and Patrick could see Alison staring at him. "Well, we both had some clients this morning in the other office, but otherwise, no."

He gestured to the door. "Okay, Mr. CBI, I talked to you, so now I have to go. I have another client who's waiting for me, and as you know even with this unfortunate event, the client comes first. So, if there are no further questions?"

"No further questions." Patrick found it odd that the man could do his job, even while their manager just got murdered. But then again…it seemed that the manager wasn't exactly adored around the office. And business was important.

Patrick focused his attention on the very nervous-looking Alison Carter. She was pacing the office from Harold's desk to her desk and back again.

"This is your desk? Uh, Alison?" Patrick waved at the desk she just left and sat down behind it.

"Yes," she walked towards him and stood in front of the desk with her hands crossed over her chest. "I'm sorry, I'm a little nervous about what happened."

"That's completely understandable."

Patrick looked around the desk. Nothing much there actually. You would think a girl like Alison, who was wearing yellow hairclips in her hair and orange lipstick would have all kinds of rubbish like photo frames, clocks, pencils and make up on her desk. This desk was clean, like someone just started to work at it.

"How long have you been working here, Alison?" He asked.

"A year or two," she answered, looking slightly alarmed by the question. Why was she so nervous? It was a normal question after all.

"Can I look through the drawers?"

"Sure."

The drawers were a mess. So he did read Alison right. She wasn't a neat person. It looked like she'd shoved all the stuff from her desk into one or two drawers in a big hurry. She was definitely hiding something. But what? He wasn't sure yet.

He kept one eye on Alison, who was standing in front of the desk still looking very nervous, as he sorted through the contents. His other eyes locked on some lipstick beneath all the other junk. It was red. Like the stain on the door. That was interesting. Alison wasn't wearing red though, so whose was it?

Of course could she only be wearing orange today because she was guilty? But then she would have probably thrown the lipstick away afterwards…

He picked the red lipstick tube up carefully by its tip, and showed it to Alison. "Is this yours?"

She looked surprised. He couldn't really tell if it was sincere though, as she was looking so jumpy. "No, it's Elizabeth's. I have no idea why it's in there."

Patrick dropped the lipstick in his pocket, and his other hand pulled a photo out of the desk. It was one of Mr. Chris Bell and Harold Sumner. What was that photo doing in this desk? It seemed like they were on some sailing boat together. Fishing perhaps? And he thought Harold Sumner hated Bell? Or was this some fishing trip organised by the bank? They looked happy, smiling.

Putting back the photo, not feeling the need to share with Alison, he looked up at her again. "Do you have any clue who shot Mr. Bell?"

"N… no."

"What makes you so nervous, Alison?"

"Mr. Bell got shot. Isn't that enough to be nervous about?"

"I don't know." Patrick took her hand and led her to the couch in the office. She did not protest, but he could feel the palms of her hand were still sweaty, her pulse definitely not steady. She was clearly hiding something from him. "Here, sit down."

Patrick took a seat next to her and looked her in the eye. She didn't look back, but stared at her shoes, trying not to burst out in tears.

"You really liked Mr. Bell, am I right?" Patrick had to get to the bottom of this. All the employers he talked to had hated Chris Bell, but Alison hadn't. He could tell from the sadness in her whole demeanour. Could it be?

"… You even, loved him, correct?"

She stared at him, tears now threatening to flow. "How?"

"How do I know?" He didn't, but it was a good guess. He wouldn't tell her that of course. "I know a lot of things, Alison." Now he had to push on. "I know you loved him, and that you've had a little something going on."

"Yes, we have," she started sobbing now. "And now he's dead."

Trying to read her wasn't even hard. She was sobbing in earnest. This was not acting. This was real grief. And it almost hit him in the face. Patrick was good in keeping up appearances; he knew he had that gift. But at times like these, he could feel all the sadness of the world crawl up inside his bones.

"Here." He swallowed, and offered her a tissue from the Kleenex box on Harold Sumner's desk. "And I'm really sorry."

"Are you going to catch the one who did it?"

"Yes, we will do our best."

"Thank you." She blew her nose and stood up, walking toward Sumner's desk. She was about to sit down when she jumped up. "Oh, wrong desk. I still get confused. I used to sit at this desk." She gave him a small smile. "I better get back to work."

* * *

"Okay guys, what have we got?" Teresa sipped her coffee, and juggled her papers from her hands onto their main table at the office. This was going to be a long day.

Cho, who was sitting next to her, was all business. She liked that. They worked very well together. She always knew what to expect from him, although Jane did his best to corrupt him sometimes, make him do stuff she was against.

"Mr. Chris Bell, single middle aged manager of the bank, shot by possibly a 22- magnum revolver. A woman running into the glass doors as shown on the security cameras from outside, red lipstick smudge, possible DNA, security cameras off inside." Cho summed it up from a small piece of paper in his hand. "Suspects are employees of the bank. No other person could have had access to the cameras."

Van Pelt, who just placed a tray of sandwiches on the table, their lunch, sat down and took out her own little black book. Her notebook. It made Teresa grin. Van Pelt was really doing well in the team. She was organised and precise, in addition to being really good with computers.

She looked up at them. "Jane found lipstick in Alison's Carter's desk drawer. Red lipstick. But Alison isn't wearing red lipstick, Elizabeth Ratcliffe does own that color, according to Alison. So, one suspect is Elizabeth, and the other is Alison because of her relationship with Bell. That is, if she told Jane the truth."

"Although…" Jane, next to Van Pelt, seemed to wake up. It seemed he had been deep in thought the minute they came back. He grabbed a sandwich from the tray on the table, took a bite and said around a tomato in his mouth. "Maybe it wasn't even a woman who did it."

"Why do you think that?" Teresa lifted one eyebrow. "It looked like a woman on the camera from outside, and the witnesses said it was a woman."

"It's just a hunch."

"Another hunch, hey?" Rigsby was chewing on a sandwich with cheese. "Man, this is one good sandwich." That earned him a raised eyebrow look from Van Pelt. Teresa knew Grace liked Rigsby a lot, when he wasn't acting with his stomach that was.

Teresa looked at Jane. "Want to share that hunch or are you going to keep us all in the dark?"

"Not yet, I'm not a 100% sure yet. But I'll let you know." He lifted a finger, took another sandwich, put it in his pocket and stood. "I'm going to take another look around the bank."

"You're going to take another look around the bank." Teresa waved her hand in a gesture that meant she wanted him to have another look around. "Cho? Go with him."

"Yes, boss." He also grabbed a sandwich and followed Jane out the door.

* * *

"Anything particular we're looking for at the bank?" Cho jumped behind the wheel of the CBI's black SUV.

Patrick knew they all hated him driving. They said he drove way too fast. He had protested to it at first, but it hadn't done any good. He stayed the passenger, buckling up next to Cho, and enjoying a bite of the sandwich from his pocket. "Rigsby was right – these are really good. Oh, and by the way we're not going to the bank."

Cho drove around some cars and off the CBI's parking lot. "What?"

"We're going to Chris Bell's house."

"Ah." Cho didn't say anything more, but Patrick wasn't expecting him to. Cho always had faith in him, no matter how weird the hunch or the tricks he played on people. Cho backed him up. And if he said he wanted to go check out Bell's house, then they were going to check out Bell's house. No questions asked.

Lisbon was something else though. He would have to cross that bridge when he came to it – after he found what he was looking for. She'd understand. She would yell at him, but she'd secretly understand.

Chris Bell's house was on the east side of town. When Cho pulled up on the other side of the street and stared at the house he let out a small puff of air. "I'm not impressed."

The house was small, hidden behind trees and bushes, and it desperately needed a paint job. This was not the house of a successful bank manager, Patrick thought. Well, maybe a manager with a lot of debt. The garden looked equally unkempt as they walked up to the front porch. The path leading to the porch was overgrown with weeds.

"I always wonder how people can live like this," Cho who looked around said in a low voice, like he was scared of being overheard.

Patrick took out his lock picks to open the door. They knew Chris Bell was single and living on his own. Van Pelt had found all the information they needed about him on the computer. No mention of a partner in his life. So, there should be no one in the house. And even though Patrick knew they were trespassing, Cho didn't say a word.

The hallway was small, leading into a kitchen and living room to the left, and stairs to the right. It smelled like dirt, and Patrick picked up a pile of mail from the floor under the door. He quickly but thoroughly looked through it, and then followed Cho into the kitchen.

There it was. Patrick saw it right away. It was stuck to the door of the fridge with a dark blue magnet. The same photo as the one he found earlier on in Linda's desk. The one of Bell and Sumner on a boat, although Sumner had been cut off the photo.

Not that it meant anything, but Patrick couldn't help but think there was something about that photo. That it wasn't just a company trip. What was the true relationship between Bell and Sumner? Were they friends? Enemies? Sumner said he hated Bell, but did he? And why did someone cut Sumner off the photo? Jealousy?

Patrick knew he was just speculating. His mind working at top speed, weighing the many possibilities. Alison had a relationship with Bell. Maybe she cut the photo in half?

"Cho?"

"Found anything?"

"Maybe. But we need to look through some drawers to see if there are more photos like this one." He pointed at the photo. "There's something wrong about this picture."

"Yeah." Cho stared at the photo and stated the obvious. "Looks like it's been cut in half." He then looked around. "Maybe we can find the other half somewhere?"

"I already know what's on it. But maybe there are more pictures like this one." Patrick removed the photo from the fridge and he stared at it for a minute before putting it in his pocket. He followed Cho into the living room. "If it's a company trip, there should be more around here somewhere."

Cho was already looking through drawers in an old desk in the left corner of the room. A computer that looked like it would fall apart at any second was standing on the desk.

"Aha." Cho waved a bunch of photos in his hand. "Company trip? I don't think so." He pushed some of them into Patrick's hands. "Have a look."

"Oh," was all that escaped Patrick's mouth when his glance fell on the top one. It was a photo of Harold Sumner, in a pair of pinkish swimming pants, on the same boat as that other photo. He looked like he was posing. Skimming through the others all he saw were either photos of Sumner or Bell, looking like they had a marvellous time. Too marvellous of a time for this to have been a company trip.

"Are you sure he had a relationship with Alison?" Cho asked.

"Yes, she was telling me the truth." Looking through the photos again, it seemed to Patrick that Bell wasn't just seeing Alison. It seemed like he'd dated Sumner as well. Maybe Alison was just a; 'look at me, I am a straight guy' kind of relationship?

Harold Sumner said he hated Bell. Why would he say that?

"I think I've seen enough." Patrick put some of the photos in his pocket, next to the one from the fridge, and waved to Cho that he was ready to leave the filthy house. Chris Bell had earned enough to be able to hire a maid. Why did he choose to live in conditions like this? Or maybe he was the man who just didn't care? Didn't care about his home, didn't care about the people around him?

* * *

"What's that black BMW up to?" Kimball Cho had been looking in his rear view mirror for the last ten minutes and took a turn to go into Capital Avenue, which was not on the way to the CBI office. Just to make sure the car behind them was really following.

"It's been following us all the way from Bell's house," Jane said.

"And you didn't feel like mentioning it?" Kimball couldn't help but shake his head. As much as he admired Jane's tactics most of the time, he wished the man would be more forthcoming sometimes. That would make work a whole lot easier. Kimball looked in his rear view mirror again. The BMW was indeed following them. "Any idea who it is?"

"I have an idea," Jane answered. "But maybe we should stop and ask?"

"Yeah, right." The minute Kimball said it the car behind them gained speed. A lot of speed. It was coming right at them. Damn it.

"Brace yourself," he snapped and grabbed the wheel tightly then stomped on the gas pedal. It was too late to avoid a collision, and he felt the BMW bump into them from the rear. Lisbon would so be on his case…

That thought quickly left him when the BMW pulled up next to them, and slammed into the door on Cho's side making the car lose its grip on the road. Their car bounced on to an empty sidewalk, into a couple of well-placed shrubs.

Kimball let go of the wheel and cursed, grabbing his gun and unlocking his seatbelt in one movement. He jumped out and looked around. No one. The BMW was gone.

Suddenly thinking of Jane he ran over to the passenger door and opened it, trying to avoid a couple of prickly branches from the bushes they landed in. "Jane, are you all right?"

The door opened and Jane was sitting there. His hands were locked into his seatbelt like it was his only lifeline. "Jane?"

"Cho?"

"Yeah, are you all right?"

"Yeah." Jane let go of the seatbelt and let out a sigh. "Yeah, fine."

"You sure?"

"Uh…" Jane moved to unlock the seatbelt and got out of the car. "Legs a bit wobbly, a slight headache, but I'm okay. Thanks Cho."

The man looked pale, but Kimball didn't say anything. "I wonder who that was," he thought out loud, and took out his cell phone to call Lisbon to tell her what just happened. This could only mean they were on the right track and the killer was on

to them.

Jane pulled his sleeve. "Tell Lisbon to check out Elizabeth Ratcliffe's car."

"You think it's her?"

"It's her car."

"How do you know that?"

"Because both Alison Carter and Harold Sumner are driving other cars."

"That's it?"

"Just ask Lisbon."

* * *

"What the hell were you two doing, going to Bell's house?" Lisbon sounded furious, and Patrick, sitting on the couch and already having a slight headache, held up one hand to stop her from yelling at him and Cho. Van Pelt was staring at them. Rigsby was nowhere in sight.

"It wasn't Cho's fault." he said quietly, pinching the top of his nose to help ease the tension and pain in his head. "I needed to check something out."

"If you need to check something out, you come to me!" She was still yelling, hands crossed over her chest. "And Cho?"

"Boss?"

"Next time you listen to my orders, or you'll go on suspension."

"Yes, boss," Cho said it in a stoic voice which made Patrick grin.

"And what's so funny?" Lisbon snapped at him. "First you two don't follow orders, and then you all but wreck our SUV."

"And we're just fine, thanks for asking," holding up his two hands now, in a gesture of surrender which always seemed to calm her down. Patrick lost the grin. "Did you bring in Elizabeth Ratcliffe?"

"Yes, as a matter of fact Risgby just invited her to the office."

"Have you checked her car?"

"She says it's been stolen." Lisbon waved a piece of paper in her hand. "We've checked it out and she did report that to the police, two days ago."

"Let me talk to her."

"No."

"Lisbon," he tried his best pleading voice, but it didn't seem to work this time.

"No." She turned to Cho. "You do the interrogation."

The minute she stalked out of the larger office into her own, Patrick turned to Cho.

"I won't say a word."

"Sure." Cho's head made a slight angle to the left, which meant something like; 'follow me but keep your mouth shut.' And Patrick smiled.

"Thanks."

"Cho!" Van Pelt almost spit it in Cho's face, trying to keep a low voice that Lisbon wouldn't hear from inside her office. "You can't."

Cho didn't react. Patrick could see that Rigsby who had just come in was grinning, and the second Van Pelt turned to get some support out of that corner, his face was serious. "Rigsby?"

"It's Cho's call."

"You're a lot of help," Van Pelt let out a sigh, and turned to her computer screen. "You men think you're all so clever."

Rigsby earnestly looked taken aback. Cho still didn't say a word and walked nonchalantly past Van Pelt on his way to interrogate Elizabeth Ratcliffe. And Patrick? He just smiled, gave Van Pelt a little pat on the shoulder that made her jump, and followed Cho.

* * *

Cho walked into the interrogation room, took a chair and sat down opposite Elizabeth, who was playing with a bracelet on her right wrist. Patrick stood near the door trying to read what was going through Elizabeth's head.

"Where were you at around eight thirty this morning?" Cho asked.

She stared at him, a defiant look in her blue eyes, and pushed up her glasses. "I was in bed. I was sick. I called the office that I couldn't make it. That's no crime, is it? I don't know who shot Mr. Bell. Hell, I didn't even know he was dead until you brought me in."

"You feel a lot better this afternoon it seems." Cho showed no mercy, while he could see the woman was about to get very upset. The more upset the better in Cho's book, Patrick knew that from him. People who were upset would crack sooner or later Cho would tell him. And most of the time that was true.

"You even seemed well enough to drive your black BMW."

"Can I have a go?" Patrick whispered it at Cho in a way that Elizabeth couldn't hear it.

"Go right ahead." Cho waved a hand in the air and stood up from his chair, retreating to the door, where he came to a stop and assumed the famous Cho stare. He looked like some bad ass ninja doing it, Patrick always thought.

"I don't know who stole my car." Elizabeth looked him straight in the eye. "You have to believe me. Someone is framing me for this murder."

"May I?" Patrick reached out to touch her hand without waiting for her answer. "Did you know that Alison Carter had a relationship with Mr. Bell?"

Elizabeth shrugged. "Mr. Bell had many relationships. He was a bastard. I'm surprised though, I thought it was Harold who he was involved with."

"Really?"

"Yes, really."

"And you hated Bell for that?"

"I hated him period."

"You hated him so much you wanted to kill him?"

"What? No!" She almost jumped up, but Patrick was still holding her hand and didn't let go. He felt her anger, but knew he had to push on to find the truth.

"So, you didn't kill him because you were jealous? Or maybe you hated him so much because he put you back on the employee ladder?"

"No way." She did jump up now, and her hand slipped out of his. Cho walked up to her and pushed her down on the chair. She blinked up at him. "Am I free to go now?"

Patrick knew enough. "Sure."

Cho glared at him and he knew he spoke out of line, again. He should learn how to stop doing that. It made his team mates nuts. "If Agent Cho says you can go, but not before."

He needed to talk to Lisbon.

"I thought I told you to not to talk to the suspect?" Lisbon didn't look up from the file she was reading on her desk when Patrick walked in. The cup of coffee next to her was undoubtedly already cold. Patrick knew that Lisbon never took the time for so much as a drink of water. She would grab a cup of coffee, and leave it standing. What a waste.

"You knew what I was doing -- You watched the interrogation through the window." He didn't ask; he stated a fact. Lisbon always watched interrogations through the one-way mirror, especially when Jane was involved. They couldn't see her, but Patrick could always feel her watchful gaze.

"I don't think we should let her go." She looked up at him now. "And before you say anything -- it's not your call."

"She hasn't done this."

"What makes you so sure?" Lisbon raised her brows. She was good at that, and did it a lot. She was an open book sometimes, her feelings clearly projected on her face. "And don't tell me you have this hunch, or I'll scream."

"Then, scream." Patrick smiled. He wouldn't mind seeing that happen. "I need to talk to Harold Sumner, alone."

"No. No way!" Lisbon shook her head adamantly.

"Oh, come on, Lisbon. You know he's hiding something from us."

"What if he's not?" She grabbed her coffee, smelled it and made a face putting it back down. "Sumner has a lot of influence in certain places. You can't just blame him for this with just a hunch."

"It's asking questions, nothing more. And it's more than a hunch."

She let out a heavy sigh looking up at him. "If you're wrong, we've lost valuable time in this investigation. Minelli will not be happy with that." Lisbon always included their boss when she wanted to make a real point. A point she knew she was losing.

"Elizabeth hasn't done it."

"So you keep saying." Lisbon bit her lip. "It's convenient someone stole her car. And that she wasn't in the office when the robbery took place. And it's her lipstick."

"Let me prove to you she isn't the one."

Lisbon's hand flew up in a gesture of defeat. "Okay, you've got this afternoon. The tests of the DNA in the lipstick will be here around that time as well and that will probably prove it's been Elizabeth all along."

She let out another deep sigh. "So, we'll back you up, but after that it's over and done, and we'll go to find some proof against Elizabeth Ratcliffe. Do I make myself clear?"

"Of course." He tried his best earnest look which made her mutter something under her breath. "Oh, and Jane," she added.

"Yes?"

"Be careful with that little scheme of yours. Whatever it will be. That close-call with the BMW was too close. Somebody is very bold."

* * *

"Harold, hi."

"Mr. Uh..."

"Jane, Patrick Jane." Last time they met Sumner hadn't even asked for his name. But he certainly remembered his face by the looks of it.

Sumner looked more than a little surprised to suddenly see the consultant with the CBI standing in his office this late in the afternoon. Alison had already gone home. They were alone. Patrick closed the doors behind him, and this had Sumner looking even more surprised.

He knew it was the look of a guilty man. Well, this time it was. There was no mistake that Sumner had done it. He only had to admit doing it. No big deal.

"Any news?"

"Well, there is some, actually."

"Sit." Sumner gestured to a chair opposite the one he was sitting on. "If I can be of any help, just let me know."

"This is confidential, of course, but given that you're the senior employee in this office I might let you know some information that you should keep to yourself." Patrick raised his eyebrows at Sumner, keeping it as casual as possible.

"You can trust me." Harold leaned forward toward him and whispered. "Did you find out who shot Mr. Bell?"

"Well, not yet. But we have a hunch. And I'm afraid it's all leading to Elizabeth." Patrick eased back into his seat. "We've got our hands on a video recording of the robbery attempt and shooting. A customer had a cell phone and recorded the whole thing. He waited to come forward because he was scared."

"Oh," Sumner said and swallowed. "That's great."

"We haven't seen the video yet. The customer just gave it to me. He indicated it is a clear close up of the woman who shot Bell, and it's much better than the outdoor camera. I was on my way to the CBI but thought that you, as a senior staff member, would want to know. You know, to put your mind at ease." Patrick continued and monitored Harold, almost seeing the sweat appear on the man's head. Gottcha.

"It's here?"

"Shhh, no one should know this." Patrick patted the pocket of his vest. "I better go and get it back to the office. If you have any other information, contact me."

Before he could stand up Sumner suddenly pulled a small gun out of the pocket of his jacket pointing it at Patrick. He should have seen that one coming. Heck, he did see that one coming. It looked like a 22-magnum revolver. The same one that shot Bell?

"Give me the phone."

"What good does it do to give you the phone, while your actions already tell me you were the one who shot Bell?" Patrick had to stay calm, in control, but he felt his insides hurt a little. "Are you willing to commit another murder?"

"It was an accident. I didn't mean to shoot him. I just needed the money. I didn't mean to shoot him. He was in the way." Sumner was all red in the face and stood up waving the gun in Patrick's face. "You give me that phone, now!"

Patrick held up his hands and coughed. "Okey dokey." Carefully putting one hand in his vest pocket, he took out the photo of Bell he took from the house. A photo he knew that Sumner would recognize.

Sumner, looking confused, grabbed it from Patrick's hand, still keeping the gun trained on him, staring at the picture. "What's this, a photo of Bell on the boat?"

"Really?" Patrick faked a frown and pretended going through his pockets again to find the so-called phone. "I could have sworn I put the phone with the video in that pocket."

"Don't play games with me!" Sumner was furious now. "Where is the phone?"

"No phone."

"What?"

"There is no phone."

"What?"

"You say 'what' a lot of times, are you sure your hearing is okay?" Patrick lifted his brows. "Oh, and thank you by the way for pointing out where this photo was taken."

Sumner almost exploded, and before he could duck out of the way, Sumner had swung out one fist and hit him in the face, hard. White spots danced before Patrick's eyes while the floor rushed up to greet him. Damn, Lisbon was right. He should work on not pissing people off so much.

"You're so dead," Sumner yelled in his ear.

"You might want to consider…" he began, his left hand gently pressed against his cheek trying to get rid of the stinging, "that there are cameras in this room." He looked up at Sumner towering over him, ready to strike again. "We put them here while you were all out for lunch at noon. It's all been recorded."

"You're lying."

"Think again." Of course he was lying.

"No!" Sumner was about to lash out at him again when everything happened at the same time. Rigsby and Lisbon crashed into the room waving their guns expertly. There was a lot of shouting on both sides. Lisbon yelling at Sumner to drop the gun. Sumner yelling to leave him alone. And finally Harold Sumner dropping the gun, defeated. Rigsby handcuffed him and read him his rights.

Patrick let out a deep sigh when a hand helped him up. It was Lisbon. "You all right?"

"Sure."

"You look like you've been in a boxing match."

"Feels that way." Patrick carefully let one finger roam over his burning cheek, and then saw the amusement in her eyes. Getting hit wasn't that funny. Why did she always act towards him as if she liked him getting hit? "And where were you?"

"Got held up by an old lady in the elevator."

"Sure."

"I swear."

"Liar."

* * *

Jane got up from his couch when Teresa came walking out of her office. He had a pack of ice on his cheek and looked tired. She suddenly felt a little guilty for not getting into that room earlier to avoid him from being hurt. Just a little.

In no time he was walking next to her. "Gonna talk to Harold Sumner?"

"Yes."

"Let me come along."

She suddenly felt tired. Too tired to argue. It's been a long couple of days. "Come along."

"Great."

Teresa let out a huge sigh and went into the interrogation room. It wouldn't do her any good to keep Jane away from this little chat. Harold Sumner had already confessed by pointing that gun at Jane, but it was bureau policy to let him tell the story. If he would tell it. Most of the time people would just shout for a lawyer.

She sat on the chair opposite Sumner, and Jane took a chair out of a corner and sat next to her staring at the man, the ice pack still on his cheek. He was good at staring. And smiling. And making them tell him stories they would never tell otherwise.

"Mr. Sumner, I'm agent Lisbon."

"Agent Lisbon." The man looked as tired as she felt.

"You have confessed to shooting and killing Mr. Chris Bell. But I wonder. Why go through all the trouble? Why not get money in a more easy way. I mean as a bank employee there are easier ways to get money, correct?"

"I, uh…"

"It was never about money, was it?" Jane interrupted him, then looked at Lisbon. "Or he would not have forgotten it before running out of the bank."

"No." Sumner looked defeated. Like he was about to spill his guts. All of them.

"You wanted to show Bell a lesson, because he kept ignoring you after you had a couple of dates with him, right?" Jane pushed on. His eyes fixed on Sumner's face. Intent.

Sumner jumped up like he was stung by a wasp. "What… No!"

Jane didn't seem to be intimidated. "Oh come on. There was a photo in Alison's desk, your desk actually. A photo of you and Bell. The one I showed you and you recognised? I found that one in Chris Bell's home, and a whole lot more. And to me it looked like you were more than just friends on some of them."

Teresa raised her eyebrows at that. Why didn't he tell her about the photos? Why did he keep things like that from her? She would definitely reprimand him for that after this was all over. The whole purpose of a consultant was for him to share his knowledge, not go his own way, damn it.

Deep down inside she couldn't help but think this was incredibly cool. Having Patrick Jane on the team made her more observant herself, although she would never ever admit that to him. He was cocky enough as it was.

"You changed desks with your good friend Alison on the day Bell was shot," Jane went on. "You didn't think we would find out that the lipstick in Alison's desk was what you used during the robbery, because Elizabeth's finger prints were on it. And then there was the car. You stole that BMW and drove us off the road, right?"

Jane now stood, and looked down on Sumner, contempt on his face. No more Mr. Smile. "I'm sure the DNA in the lipstick will match yours, Harold. You must have put on the red because you wanted to put the blame on Elizabeth, right?" He leaned forward. "And dressing up like a woman to blame someone else? You make me sick."

"Jane." Teresa knew she had to put a stop to it before it got out of hand. She knew it would. She knew Jane.

She saw Sumner swallow. "Chris was dishonest. I knew he had feelings for me, but he double crossed me with some woman. I think it was Elizabeth. It was all a big scam. It was his way of telling me the relationship was over. The big fool. No one walks away from me like that."

"You just shoot them, right?" Jane asked before Teresa could stop him. Then he walked towards Sumner and whispered in his ear. "And it was Alison he 'messed' around with, not Elizabeth."

Sumner stared at him, a shocked look on his face. "I want a lawyer."

Yeah, there it was. He wanted a lawyer. Well, Teresa hoped he had a good one, as these confessions were as good as it would get. This and his DNA from the red lipstick smudge. Now she could finally go home and get a decent night sleep. A good end to a bad day.

She should thank Jane. But she wouldn't. No way. Not ever. Because of him her car had a scratch on its paint. He needed to suffer for that, for weeks to come.

* * *

Rigsby, Cho and Van Pelt were looking up anxiously when Patrick came walking into the office. They wanted to know what happened. Of course they wanted to know. He didn't say anything though, looking deadly serious. He loved making them guess.

Rigsby of course was the first one to respond. "Well?"

"He wants a lawyer."

Rigsby's face lightened up. "Ah, yeah."

"Is that a good thing?" Van Pelt asked having a slightly confused look.

"Yes, it is," Rigsby explained but turned to Patrick just to be sure. "Right?"

"Right." Patrick smiled at them, rubbed his stomach and grabbed his jacket. He was really hungry, and this only meant one thing. "Case closed, time for pizza?"

"Yeah." Rigsby grinned and stood up. Cho had a small smirk on his lips, the best they would ever get out of him when it came to smiling. "Without the pineapple though."

Patrick smiled. "No pineapple."

Van Pelt just stared at them, and then looked at Lisbon who just came in, waiting for her to give the okay as she always did even when it came to pizza. Patrick shook his head. Some things just never changed.

And he liked it that way.

The End


End file.
